


Connections

by nostalgia



Category: Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: F/M, One Night Stands, Tea, The 1970s, The Vault (Doctor Who), social butterfly doctor, wine evenings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-31
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-19 17:39:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,191
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15515079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nostalgia/pseuds/nostalgia
Summary: The Doctor is invited out.





	Connections

“You're early,” said Missy when the Doctor entered the vault with a tray in his hands.

“I know,” he said, walking over and setting the tray down on her coffee table. The tray held a teapot, two cups, sugar and milk, and a small plate piled high with Jammy Dodgers. The whole collection implied a pleasant evening of conversation, but it was only ten past four in the afternoon.

The Doctor selected a biscuit and bit into it. “I won't be around this evening,” he said, chewing.

Missy was surprised. “Why not? Have you finally decided to get a hobby? Is it painting little soldiers?”

He shook his head. “I've been invited to some sort of gathering.” He waved a hand to indicate his low level of interest in the event. “A drinks evening. Nardole's always telling me that I should socialise more with the faculty, so...” He shrugged. 

“I don't know why you listen to him, he's not exactly insightful.”

The Doctor sat down opposite her in the battered green armchair. “On very rare occasions he's worth listening to. This is probably one of those occasions. I need to fit in a better around here.”

Missy folded her hands in her lap and looked at him pointedly until he poured her some tea. “Is it a hen night?” she asked as he added the milk. 

The Doctor raised his eyebrows at her. “Do you even know what a hen night is?”

“Of course I do, it's one of those amusing working-class sporting events where they make chickens fight to the death.”

“That's a cock-fight,” he told her. “Hen nights are when a woman's getting married and she and her friends go to Manchester to get drunk and watch men take their clothes off.”

“Oh,” said Missy, sounding not remotely interested. “So what sort of event is this thing you're planning to attend?”

He wasn't entirely sure, but he didn't want to admit that. “Just a friendly get-together for people who work with each other. Light conversation, wine, possibly charades.”

“What year is this?” asked Missy.

“1973, why?”

“It's 1973 and you're expecting a game of charades?” Missy shook her head. “It's much more likely to be wife-swapping or something involving hallucinogenic mushrooms.”

“Don't be ridiculous,” said the Doctor, adding the final three spoonfuls of sugar to his tea. 

“Just make sure you take some sort of contraceptive with you.”

“Missy,” he said, trying to be patient with her, “it's not that sort of party.” He lifted his teacup and sat back in the armchair. “One of the chemistry lecturers invited me. Agatha. See? I know her first name, we're practically best friends already.”

Missy tutted her disapproval. “Humans aren't _friends_ , Doctor, they're at best amusing distractions from contemplating the inevitable heat-death of the universe.” She sipped at her tea. “This milk is starting to go off,” she added, conversationally.

The Doctor chose to ignore her contributions. “If you need anything while I'm gone you can summon Nardole, I'm leaving the psychic paper with him.”

“What if I need _you_?”

“You won't.”

“You can't possibly know that. I might fall over, hit my head, and regenerate. How do you expect your robot butler to deal with something like that?”

The Doctor sighed. “Missy, it's one evening. I'm sure you can cope on your own for that length of time.”

Missy glared at him and lapsed into silence.

 

The Doctor was on his very best behaviour and left the TARDIS in his office in favour of a half-empty bus out of town and a short walk that turned into a longer walk because he got lost trying to locate Agatha's house. He had brought a bottle of wine, which according to Nardole was only the _second_ least-expensive brand that the supermarket sold, which would probably put him one-up on the other guests. He was feeling fairly confident about this evening, all told.

He rang the doorbell and waited. It was slightly cold on the doorstep, but he was wearing three t-shirts and a hoodie so he didn't especially mind. 

The door swung slowly open and he saw that Agatha was wearing a long green dress and that three t-shirts and a hoodie probably weren't posh enough for whatever she had planned. Well, he had worn weirder things to more clothing-specific events, he could probably get away with looking a bit underdressed on this occasion. 

“Sorry I'm late,” he said, “I couldn't find your house. I think I actually walked past it twice before I realised it was the right one.”

Agatha smiled. “Don't worry, you're just late enough to be fashionable.” She almost managed to conceal a quick glance at his hoodie that implied he had indeed misinterpreted some subtle social cue on the clothing front. She stood aside and waved him in. 

From the look of things the other guests had yet to arrive, so maybe being slightly late wasn't considered rude or unusual in this decade. The Doctor had never quite understood the 1970s. For one thing he kept getting them confused with the 1980s. In fact, during his exile...

“You brought a bottle,” said Agatha, holding out her hand. He nodded and passed it to her. Her quick examination didn't appear to lead to disappointment, so presumably Nardole had been wise to select the second-cheapest wine option. He'd have to thank him later.

“Take a seat,” said Agatha, gesturing towards the sofa. When he was settled, she sat down next to him, a bit close but humans were quite varied when it came to their concerns about personal space. The Doctor managed not to shuffle away in case that was considered insulting. 

“Your house is very nice,” said the Doctor, politely. “I like what you've done with the furniture.”

Agatha twisted round to face him. “Thank you,” she said with a smile. She opened the bottle of wine and poured out two glasses. “How old are you?” she asked.

Did she think he wasn't old enough to drink alcohol? Obviously the truth wasn't an option, and the Doctor had only ever had a vague idea of how old he looked to other species. He knew that he looked older than his students, at least. “Um... thirty-five?” he guessed. 

Agatha laughed. “Don't worry,” she said, “you don't have to tell me if you don't want to.”

“Okay,” said the Doctor, relieved. He could do this. He could absolutely be a social butterfly.

 

As they started on the second bottle of wine (she had stocked up, apparently), he wondered where the other guests had got to. They couldn't all be this late, surely? What if something had happened to them? Should he go and look for them, just in case?

And why was Agatha's hand on his knee? Wasn't that a bit intimate for colleagues who didn't even work in the same department? 

“Is that a wedding ring?” she asked, nodding towards his left hand. “I thought you were single,” she added, and it sounded a bit like an accusation.

“I'm not married at the moment,” he said. “I had a wife a while ago, though.”

“Divorced?”

“She died.”

“I'm sorry,” she said, and it sounded like she meant it.

He shrugged. “These things happen.” He lifted his wineglass, then paused before taking another drink. “How many people did you invite here this evening?” 

Agatha looked confused. “Just you,” she said. 

Oh.

 _Oh._

Well, that explained her hand, which was now on the move and was currently halfway up his inner thigh. He cleared his throat. “I don't usually... um. I mean. That is.” He tried not to panic. “You know, I should probably leave soon. I have to be up early in the morning.” He faked a yawn, which didn't sound very convincing even to him. 

Agatha laughed, and kissed him.

 

“You had sex,” said Missy the next morning as soon as he walked into the vault.

He stared at her and considered denying it. She couldn't possibly _know_.

“You used a woman's shampoo this morning,” Missy added without looking up from her book. “That's why you smell so much nicer than you usually do.”

The Doctor managed not to sniff at himself. He decided not to sit down, in case he got drawn into another awkward conversation. 

“What was it like?” she asked, still reading. 

“It was fine,” he said, trying to be as vague as possible. 

She nodded. “Yes, it does tend to be a bit disappointing with humans, doesn't it?”

“I didn't say it was disappointing. It was nice, I enjoyed it.”

Missy looked doubtful. 

“What are you reading?” he asked, mostly to distract her from his own exploits. 

“Thomas Paine,” she said, turning a page. “I tried to kill him once, you know.”

“Why?”

She shrugged. “He was annoying.”

“Too much common sense,” said the Doctor with a small smile.

“Yes,” said Missy, seriously. She closed the book, holding her place with a finger between the pages. “Were you careful or am I going to be an aunt?” 

“I'm not going to talk about it,” he said. “It's a private matter and it has nothing to do with you.”

Missy shrugged. “If you say so.” She gestured to an empty plate on the table by her chair. “You can tell Nardole that my breakfast was acceptable, though he should consider buying the bacon from another source.”

The Doctor nodded and lifted the plate. “Anything else?”

Missy tilted her head for a moment, as if thinking, then opened her book again. “That's all.”

He headed for the door, relieved to get away without being mocked. 

“Doctor,” called Missy as he opened the lock. He turned to look at her. 

“There's a very discreet STD clinic on Vega 6. Just an FYI. In case you find yourself in need.”

He scowled at her and then headed back to his office.

 

The Doctor opened the car door as Agatha walked past. “Do you want a lift?” he asked.

She looked at him, frowning, and then her expression cleared as she recognised him. “Doctor?”

He nodded. “Come on, I'll drive you home.”

“I already have a train ticket,” she said, holding onto her handbag a bit too tightly.

He raised his eyebrows. “But I'm an old friend. Don't you want to catch up?”

“I'm married now,” she said, more quietly. “I have a family.”

The Doctor shook his head. “I won't try anything, I promise. I just want to know what you've been up to.” 

She stood, wavering, before nodding and getting into the car. She looked at him curiously as he started the engine. “You haven't aged a day,” she said, surprised. 

“I'm just blessed with good skin,” he lied, “and I try to stay out of the sun. Put on your seatbelt,” he added, “I'd hate for anything to happen to you.”

 

The car pulled up outside her new house about an hour later. They had passed the time in pleasant conversation with the Doctor only outright lying on a dozen or so occasions. 

“Thanks for the lift,” said Agatha, opening the car door. “I hope you haven't gone too far out of your way.”

The Doctor smiled. “It was worth it.”

He saw her hesitate and then – to his great surprise – she kissed his cheek quickly before getting out. He waited in the car until she reached the front door, not quite wanting to leave. 

A young woman of about twenty appeared in the doorway. “Mum!” She wrapped Agatha in her arms. “Oh, thank God! We thought you were on that train!”

Time to leave, the Doctor decided, as Agatha turned to stare at him, shocked. He waved at her quickly and drove off before anyone could ask him if he'd known about the accident before it happened.

 

 

He told Missy the story that evening as they shared the traditional pot of tea.

“Did you save anyone you didn't have sex with?” asked Missy, affecting an innocent tone. 

Clearly he'd been stupid to think she might actually learn something from all this. “No,” he said wearily, “I didn't.”

Missy nodded. “So you saved one person you were friends with anyway. I'm sure that's a great comfort to everyone you left to die.”

“I can't do everything,” said the Doctor, steadily. 

“Then why do anything?” she asked. She seemed genuinely confused, and it made his hearts ache. 

“You'll understand one day,” he promised.

Missy shrugged. “You hope.”

“I know,” he insisted. “Do you want the last biscuit?” he asked, changing the subject.

She hesitated. “Is this a test?” she asked. “Do you want me to say I don't want it?”

He smiled and pushed the plate towards her. “Relax,” he told her, “it was an honest question.”

Missy nodded and took possession of the final Jammy Dodger. “I'm glad you were able to save your friend,” she said after a pause. Before he could smile she added, “You'd have moped about it for weeks otherwise.”

The Doctor sighed quietly and finished his tea. Missy could change, he was sure of that, but it wasn't going to happen overnight. 

But he was willing to wait, however long it took.


End file.
